In the beginning

There was romance in the beginning.  Late night, after-work oysters and gorgeous bottles of Burgundy shared in the dark watching the lights of New York.  Food and wine events where we would flirt and cuddle in dark corners and then return to the light acting professionally towards one another.  We went to the movies, museum exhibitions, walks in the park.  We stayed up late, alone or with friends, talking politics, religion, the life he missed in France, my upbringing as an African-American in a predominantly white community.  We learned about each other, peeled back the layers and found out the secrets, the fears, the joys, the dreams that we'd held all our lives and they slowly began to mesh.  They became our dreams and we became we.

I talked of learning French, wanted him to come down south with me to meet my family, see my real roots, discover what many who knew me up north in New Jersey and Boston had never known, introduced him to my brother, my glorious godmother, Honeybunch, my cousin Kelley.  He invited me to meet his best friend, another displaced Frenchy in Bedford, NY and took me to meet his parents and his brothers and their families in France.  We travelled together and not only survived, we loved each other more.  While visiting one summer in Annecy, I whispered, for the first time, a shared secret.  It seems only I'd had the courage to even speak it.  I thought we should try to start a family.

We were in love and we were grown ups.  This was not Sixteen Candles and I did not think Didier was Jake Ryan, loosely written, perfect, ending all conflict with a crooked smile.  We argued, we fought, we disagreed.  It drove me crazy that he would sometimes appear to be listening, even offering the uh-huhs, and hmmms while I spoke but be totally off in outerspace not even considering me.  I went crazy if anything in our lives was out of place, from the items lined up in the bathroom to unconfirmed party invitations or not enough gas in the car.  But at the end of the day, I couldn't see myself with anyone else and I knew, like all couples, we would do all we could to weather any storm, bracing ourselves for whatever life might send our way, having no idea at all what that might be.

(Searching for pictures for the posts about our early years together.)

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Courtship begins

When I first met Didier, I had just started a hostessing job at his new restaurant on the Upper West Side of Manhattan called AIX.  I came to AIX on the advice of his friend Jehangir with whom I had worked at Compass, also on the UWS, and who had recently left Compass to work again with Didier.  My first day of training, I was sitting at the front desk podium looking at the Open Table seating chart with the head hostess, when in walked Didier.  He wore a blue sweater with a zip front, an ascot, jeans, a long brown suede coat, what I called his tap shoes because they clicked when he walked, and a knapsack very high up on his back.  He looked like a French school boy and he had the sweetest face I had ever seen.  In that moment, before it was even a moment, I was smitten. 

Of course I did not share this with too many people as it seemed to be my way at the time to push against what I wanted or was in store for me, but I did know.  I knew because all the signs continued to point to it.  The easy banter, shared sense of humor, love of art and music.  I impressed him with a strong knowledge of 70s era rock music.  Come on, I am from Jersey!  I loved his food.  I loved his smile, when he was willing to reveal it.  I loved his shyness.  I seemed to be one of the few who knew that that was what it was.  He was not arrogant or rude.  He was shy and he was committed to making good food and it meant more to him than most people realized.  Bad reviews, disappointed customers.  This hurt him deeply. 

He knew about wine.  I drank martinis.  He played drums and was once in a rock band with his brother in France.  I was a dancer.  He never moved, save the occasional air drumming episode but he did have rhythm.  He struggled through the slang expressions I used when animated and excited and I hopelessly interpreted his Franglais when he was tired.  We enjoyed late nights at wine bars and friends' restaurants around the city and visits to galleries and museums, concerts and weekends in the Hamptons.  Discovering each other was even more intoxicating because it was a secret.

The details of our courtship can be told by the countless impressions we left on restaurant staff as they tried to decipher our flirtation signals and wayward glances.  He was in a bad marriage and everyone knew this and I was afraid I would never find love with anyone, let alone this man.  We went back and forth for years.  He was slow to make a decision regarding his divorce, wanting to leave his ex-wife with what she'd need to continue in a life without him, and I was eager to move forward in our relationship but felt powerless to assert myself with him, wanting him to take all the time he needed to be sure.  Then as now, the love was not the question.  It was and I suppose is, all the other stuff that make relationships work in real life and not just in the movies. 

Once there was a commitment, I told him that I would follow him anywhere.  And here we are.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Turning the corner

Post partum depression is a soul killer.  Add to that a massive upheaval, relocation to a developing country, separation from one's spouse and life partner, a newborn baby and toddler to raise, , the end of a professional life, and the death of Michael Jackson, yes I said it, and you have the perfect storm of craziness.  Seriously.  This past year has been absolutely insane for me and I cannot believe that as astute as I usually am, I did not see the post partum rocking me to the core and tearing me, and nearly my family, to bits.  I say this now because, while I am afraid to utter anything out loud, I feel the toxicity in my body, the visceral aching of my depression subsiding.  Slowly. 

I noticed it first when we were in New York because I had the chance to feel myself in my old shoes again.  I felt calm.  I could not hear buzzing around my brain.  I was walking and breathing and letting myself feel again rather than closing up.  That is my modus operandi, to close off the feelings so as not to feel the pain.  But then I lose the sensation of joy and pleasure too.  It is coming back.  Slowly.  While in New York, I did see my therapist, a wonderful wise woman whom I believe not only cares about my well-being and wants to see me well, but actually loves me, easily, gently, and with so much grace I am often blown away that I could be so lovable to someone.  I needed that.  I also was given a prescription by a psychiatrist for an antidepressant, but as Virginie is still nursing, I have not started taking it.  I think just having it available to me has been reassuring.

When we arrived here, I was drawing negative people with real issues in their lives close to me, women in bad marriages, with cheating husbands, sadness and low esteem.  On top of everything else I was dealing with, my closest confidantes were suffering too and often choosing to do nothing about it.  I knew that Didier and I were weathering a storm we had certainly not prepared for, or ever expected, but we did still love one another.  We just could not get into a rhythm that worked for all of us, in part because I was mentally ill and in part because, honestly, he just hadn't a clue how to have a full time job and come home to another.  

I know there is a reason we are in Barbados, but what it is, I have not discovered yet.  I cannot say that I love it here and that it has all turned around in a day.  But I will say that I believe in reading the signs that we pass in life and in considering nothing as a coincidence.  I believe in the Laws of Attraction and that I can shape my future by my attitude and the truth in my heart.  And while I miss what I call home, for now Barbados really is my home and I have to get into this present  moment and live it.  Let go of what doesn't work and create friendships, relationships, and experiences that do.  My girls and my husband have been waiting for me to come back.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Grandma and Grandpa's visit

I got the impression that my parents did not really want to come to Barbados for Lily's birthday party.  I do not think it had to do with how much they love Lily, because they really do love Lily, but the trip here can really be a trek and a pain in the ass on both sides of the journey.  They have a busy travel schedule as they are retired and world travelers, but also, they have lots of friends whom they love to visit in the States and abroad.  This would be just one more trip jammed in at the last moment.  I cannot imagine that my depression made Barbados an optimal choice on top of everything else, but I begged them to come.  And they obliged.

I am not sure if it is that I am still high from my visit to New York or that planning Lily's birthday made me feel so good, but I have been in better spirits of late.  Perhaps the post partum is beginning to subside or my three sessions of therapy in New York did the trick to jumpstart my usually positive disposition.  Who knows?  But right now, I feel good and am trying to make the best of my sojourn to Barbados. 

Dare I say it, we all had a wonderful time together.  The girls were pleased as punch to share their home, their pool, and their garden with my mom and dad.  They were precocious and flirtatious and delicious.  My parents were eating them up.  My relationship with my parents has had its ups and downs more than likely due to our different perspectives on many things and my heart being on the outside causing me bouts of severe sensitivity and melancholy, but I still wish for them to have a loving, open relationship with the girls.  Family is important to Didier and me, so whenever the girls can be close to their roots, especially when we have none here, I want them to have that opportunity.  We are still trying to figure out how to have them visit with their French grandparents who are much older than my parents and less able to travel such long distances to a hostile climate.  (I am talking about the temperature here.)

My parents were here for five days, give or take an hour or two, and it was just the perfect amount of time.  There were no fights or disagreements.  No hostile remarks or petty annoyances.  Lily and Virginie saw us all at our best, loving one another and gathering together to celebrate one of our own.  This is one of  the lessons I hope to instill in our little girls.  The importance of family and a willingness to travel far and wide to be together.  I am so glad my mom and dad came.  It was good for me too.


(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Birthday party in Bim

We met Vicky and Colin and their two beautiful children at Blossoms Nursery School and took an instant liking to them.  They are professional people, articulate, funny, and kind and I had a soft spot for their daughter, Eden, who was a classmate of Lily's.  When I discovered that their birthdays were both in July, I suggested a joint birthday party.  I really wanted to get to know them as a couple and thought it also might be nice to navigate the world of kids' parties in Barbados with someone else!  My parents were corralled into visiting and celebrating with us and we invited all of the students in Lily and Eden's class, as well as their parents and siblings.


Getting up early to prep the house, pool, and garden, Didier, my parents, and I all had tasks on a list to tick off and accomplish before party time. Didier and my dad started off cleaning tables and chairs and fortifying the fence around the pool.  Sweeping and mopping three patios, removing all riding toys, setting up pool toys, prepping the barbecue, guesthouse toilets, pinata, goodie/loot bags all had to be done while still entertaining Lily and Virginie.  My mother even cleaned some tables that I do not think had seen soap and water for years!  I had hoped that both girls would take a nap before the big event, but only Virginie was coaxed to sleep with a little nursing and mood lighting and music.  Lily was too excited.

Vicki, Colin, and Eden arrived before the party to finalize the details and set up the drinks table, games, and music.  We'd set aside a special table for the face painter and lined up chairs under all the patio awnings so that the adults could socialize and eat while others swam and played.  I guess you just never know how these things are going to turn out and I must say, I knew that people would more than likely come later than the invitation time stated, but I was not prepared for just how late!  The face painter was scheduled for three o'clock and at that time, only one other guest besides the two party girls was there!  Nerves were a bit rattled and I wondered if perhaps I had made a big mistake insisting on a party.  To make matters worse, as Didier began preparing the barbecue, it began to rain.  First a light pattering and then a real pour!  Always the professional, Le Chef propped the face painter's plastic table over the food and prevented it from getting wet.

The rain subsided and just like that, guests began to arrive.  Children and parents from Blossoms Nursery School funneled out back in the garden and started chatting and swimming and dancing.  Food was put out on the tables and all raved about Didier's cooking.  Even on the grill he is a star.  Virginie got her face painted first and when they saw her little face covered in orange flowers, the other kids jumped out of the pool to line up.  Even the adults got into it and had butterflies, pirate faces, and flowers painted on too.  My father, former executive and serious individual sat for a lion's visage to be painted on his face.  He looked like the Barbados touring show of CATS.  It was awesome.

The Stare Down

My mother and I took a stroll through the Chattel Village in Holetown this afternoon with Virginie in tow.  My mom loves to shop and these little houses are as good as any place to get started.  Virginie loves to come along anywhere she might get to walk around and pick things up and possibly break them sending her mommy into a panic, so it was a win-win for these two.  I went along to give myself a change of scenery after a day spent at home and to serve as a tour guide/security team for the two of them.


After our shopping and much consideration we decided against walking home with the sun directly in Virginie's face and called Didier for a pick up.  Because it was still quite humid outside we ventured into the Holetown gas station convenience store to pick up some drinks and snacks and bide the time in the minimal but cooler than outside air conditioning.  I had never been into this joint after nearly a year of living here but found it pretty typical of gas station markets, lots of drinks, beers, candy, tourist trinkets.  When all selections were made, I put our items on a countertop that I assumed was the check out and waited to be rung up.  There were eight people behind the counter, so it seemed manpower should have been quite strong, but we were getting very little help and not one word.  No greeting.  No, "is that it?"  Nothing but the stare down.


That seemed the most opportune time for Virginie to drop her Cheetos on the floor and my mother, always a good customer and decent patron picked them up from the floor as I asked for a garbage to dispose of the fallen.  We got a nod in an arbitrary direction and our purchases, now rung up, handed to us, all with the stare and a slow blink. 

Barbados is a country of about 275,000 people so it like being in a small US town where the level of pettiness and insecurity can be awfully high.  You see the same people and come to expect the same things from them and are pretty wary of anyone and everything that falls out of the normal routine.  Somehow, in this nation of unfriendlies, tourism is the main trade.  Now of course, not everyone in Barbados is unfriendly, but when we have come up against some small time, small town mindedness, it has been as bad as trying to get a cup of coffee in a small Georgia town at 2 am, except under those circumstances there is usually a racist element to it.

Most, but not all of the tourists and ex-patriots on the island are British, Canadian, with a small spattering of Americans, all predominantly white.  They exist in their own space on the island, either in ex-pat communities or at a wide spectrum of hotels from casual to luxury.  A white person in Barbados will experience it completely differently than a person of color as the Bajans confront whites and non-whites with different tactics (maybe with the exception of white Bajans).  I often felt that the cold, annoying stares were related to being part of a mixed couple, a couple so clearly without ties to Barbados or the Caribbean other than work.  But this afternoon, I walked alone with my mother and daughter, each of us representing various shades of the African-American experience and still felt the bitterness and the loathing.  I use loathe rather than hate because loathing has the chance to simmer in the Barbados steam.  There is anger behind it that leaves bile in the throat or at least a bad taste in the mouth. 

Tell me what you will, but unless you face a day in public with the stare down and constant judgement reminiscent of high school hallways after the bell between classes has rung, you don't understand.  I have heard the whispering, seen the pointing, and asked questions to blank faces.  Once upon a time I would have shrugged it off and smiled nonetheless, hoping my warmth would charm an angry heart.  But when my family is involved, I haven't the time.  Back off.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle